


All This, All Yours

by DreamingAngelWolf



Category: Marvel, Sense8 (TV), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bucky needs a hug, Clint Is a Good Bro, Crossover, Feels, M/M, Sexy Times, Some Emotional Hurt/Comfort, a bit of angst, assassin!Bucky, hand-wavey cluster stuff, idk how it all really works, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 08:28:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5241587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamingAngelWolf/pseuds/DreamingAngelWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky Barnes does not lose focus on the job. Bucky Barnes does not endanger those whom he cares for. Bucky Barnes is fine on his own. Clint Barton knows Bucky better than Bucky knows himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All This, All Yours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HyperRaspberry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HyperRaspberry/gifts).



> Wow. Yeah. So. Um. I had thought about doing a Marvel/Sense8 fusion before, but it was a prompt on Tumblr that made me write this, and it's so interesting that I might - _might_ \- do more. (No promises, though - I have too many other things that urgently need my attention.)
> 
> If you haven't seen _Sense8_ yet I highly recommend that you get to it ASAP; not only will you better understand what's happening here, but you will embark on a roller-coaster ride of a show that is, in my opinion, unparalleled brilliance. I can only hope I've done it justice.

Ignoring the discomfort the change in position brought, Bucky reached up to adjust his scope, small stones on the building’s roof digging into his elbow. He’d been there for twenty minutes maybe, the mark still not having made his appearance on the helipad in his sights, and although he expected to be there a while longer the first inklings of worry were beginning to sneak into his mind. If his intel was wrong, he could be a sitting duck, and the Cluster would suffer for his mistake.

A wind blew over him where he lay, catching the exposed skin on the back of his neck. He repressed a shiver, barely blinking at the chill and breathing out steadily. Down the scope, the helicopter guards zipped up their jackets further, one burying the lower-half of his face behind the material. They were still oblivious to his presence, and looked far more eager to be out of the cold than he was – and that was going to work to his advantage.

“Why the fuck is it always so goddamn cold in Russia?”

Cursing inwardly, Bucky stayed focused on the helipad as he answered, “If you don’t like it, why are you here?”

“Hell if I know,” Clint said, tucking his hands under his armpits. “Not like I asked to trade the forest for… this.”

Bucky looked up at the change of scenery, taking in the layers of green and brown above and below him, the echoing birdsong, warm sunlight and moist air against his skin. A tent was pitched behind him, stocked for one, a bow and arrow by the unzipped entrance. It was a far cry from the cold, dry, grey rooftops he was on. “Where’s this then?”

“Iowa.”

He snorted. “I could’ve guessed that.”

Clint chuckled as Bucky went back to his sniper position. “It’s a forest not far from where I grew up. I come here for practise every month or so.”

“Archery?”

“Yeah.” Clint shivered. “How about you? Odd place for target practise, though I can see its merits.”

Resigning himself to the fact that Clint wasn’t going away, Bucky sighed and explained, “This isn’t a practise. I’m waiting for Rumlow.”

“Rumlow? Pierce’s guy?” Clint’s shock resonated through him, and Bucky tensed.

“Yes.”

“What the hell are you doing this close to him? Don’t you know how dangerous he is?”

“Of course I know,” he snapped, “why do you think I’m here?” The wind picked up again, and he allowed himself to feel the sunlight from Clint’s forest on his back, the birdsong filtering through with it. “Jessica saw them in Vienna. She and Natasha worked out one of them was headed here and Natasha passed the information on to me. They’re not entirely sure what Pierce is after though.”

“T’Challa had an idea about that,” Clint said. “Cindy found out that an account at the bank she works at was emptied recently, when it was thought the holder was deceased. Apparently it held several million won in it. According to T’Challa, it was emptied the same day a Wakandan vibranium mine was attacked and raided.”

“So Rumlow’s here buying vibranium on Pierce’s behalf,” Bucky mused.

“Maybe, but what for?”

“It won’t matter soon,” he said grimly. One of the helicopter guards was listening to something in his earpiece. Bucky could only hear birdsong.

“I spoke to Kamala recently,” Clint said after a quiet minute. “She was worried about you.”

The men were getting ready for something. “Really?”

“Yeah. Said you seemed… lost.”

“I know exactly where I am, Clint.”

“No, that kind of lost.” The helicopter’s rotors started up. “Like you were… Man, how did she put it…” Bucky adjusted his scope minutely. “You were on a, ‘bad path’, or something.”

“Mm-hm.” 

“She’s praying for you.” Clint was smiling. “She’s praying for all of us, actually –”

“Shit.” Opposite the helicopter a door opened, and out walked Rumlow, surrounded closely by more than a handful of personal guards.

Clint craned his neck to get a better view. “Not what you were expecting?”

“I thought a few, maybe, but not that many.” His shot just became ten times harder, and Rumlow was quickly advancing towards the helicopter.

A hand patted his shoulder. “Give it here.”

He didn’t dare tear his eye away from his scope. “What?”

“I can take the shot.”

“With a bow and arrow, are you crazy?”

“I can use both.” Clint got up, retrieving said bow and arrow from where they lay by the tent. “Whatever I’m using,” he said, “whatever I’m aiming for, I never miss.”

Rumlow was almost there. Bucky wanted to protest – every fibre of him screamed that this was a bad idea – yet with a growl he stood up, rifle in his hands, and handed control over to Clint. He felt rather than saw as Clint worked both bow and rifle simultaneously, drawing back the string as he aimed at Rumlow. He breathed in, deep, and let it out calmly, string and trigger still taught against his fingertips. He was relaxed. The birds were singing.

“Run.”

The force of the recoil and crack of the rifle brought Bucky back to himself, and he saw Rumlow drop amidst the circle of his protection detail. Without hesitating he dropped onto his stomach, packing his equipment away as efficiently as he could before taking off, visualising the escape route he’d come up with the previous night. He was getting into his car within four minutes of the shot being made, confident that he hadn’t been seen by either the guards or any of the building’s residents, and once his rifle was sequestered away he was free to drive away unhindered. For now, at least.

“What did I tell you?” Clint said, sitting smugly in the passenger seat.

Bucky allowed himself a smile. “We’ll toast your success when I’m safe,” he said. “Natasha’s safe house isn’t far away.” Which reminded him – “I have to call her, actually.”

Over the phone, he didn’t divulge too many details, knowing she’d get them out of him in a more appropriate setting later. She sounded pleasantly surprised, though, and promised him he could use the house without being disturbed. He arrived there a couple of hours later, and once he’d spread the parts of his rifle carefully around the property, he took great pleasure in falling backwards onto the sofa, relishing the feel of cushions against his tired muscles.

“So where’s my toast, huh?”

He groaned out loud. “Can’t you give me five minutes of peace?”

“Apparently not.” Clint didn’t sound particularly apologetic about that, Bucky noticed. “You said we’d toast my success when you were safe. And, given that you’re in a dingy living room no-one in their right mind would choose to stay in, I’m assuming that you are, actually, out of danger now?”

Sitting up, Bucky chuckled without humour. “If I was ever truly out of danger, I might sleep without a knife in reach. I might sleep, period.”

“Uh…” Clint rubbed his neck awkwardly before deciding to pull the topic back to his toast. “There’s vodka here, right? I mean, you’re still in Russia, so of course there is.”

“You mean you’ve got nothing in that tent of yours?” Bucky peered into the small dwelling as he asked, appreciating how warm the forest was in comparison to Natasha’s house. 

“Sure, I’ve got a bit of whiskey,” Clint said, gesturing at a pile of bags in one corner of his tent, “but I’m not gonna pass up on some genuine Russian stock when it’s in front of me!”

“It’s not in front of you.”

“Eh, details.” He opened a cabinet door, crowing happily when he found a tumbler and glasses. “Wow,” he grunted, pulling them out, “you guys really don’t mess around with this stuff, huh?”

Standing, Bucky smirked. “What, you were expecting shot glasses?”

Clint shrugged. “Kinda.” Bucky took them from him, sliding the tumbler of vodka out as well. “Thor would also be highly disappointed in me if I didn’t take the opportunity to expand my tastes. He actually said that a bit earlier.”

“He did?” 

“Yep. I told him his Norwegian home-brew would have to wait for an all-out Clusterfuck, but man, he didn’t half talk it up.”

Bucky shook his head. “He tried to get me to try it, too. Told him I’d call for it at the right time.”

“When might that be?” Clint asked as he was offered his glass.

He gave a rueful smile. “When it might make things bearable.”

“… Oh.” At a loss for words, again, Clint just tapped his glass to Bucky’s on cue, taking a large gulp of his drink. He promptly began coughing into his arm. “Christ!” he choked out while Bucky, greatly amused, watched on. “You substitute water with this?”

“You wanted the real stuff,” Bucky said, grinning as he went to sip from his glass again. “Try savouring it.”

Clint mimicked him, sipping rather than swigging, but still blinked heavily, clearing his throat and muttering another cuss under his breath. “Goddamn shame I’m not even going to feel the effects of this.”

“Hardly,” Bucky scoffed. “What time is it over there – you really want to be wasted so early in the day? In a place like this?” He gestured to the trees around them, feeling out of place dressed in black with a glass of vodka in his hand. The birds didn’t seem to care, though. 

“What, and leave you to get wrecked on your own?” Clint shook his head. “No way.”

Frowning at him, Bucky asked, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

They were back in the house. Expression serious, Clint slowly sat down on the worn-out sofa, staring into the glass in his hands. He put it down, linking his fingers between his knees. “How often do you see Natasha?”

Confused by the question, Bucky said, “Not often. We talk on the phone sometimes, but meeting face-to-face isn’t… wise.” He eyed Clint warily. “Why?”

“I just –” He wouldn’t look at him. “I kind of noticed that… Will you sit? Please?”

Still tense and uncertain, Bucky obliged, joining him on the grass. Clint seemed to fidget, his ‘toast’ completely abandoned, and Bucky had a growing sense that he wasn’t going to like what was about to be said. 

“You care about people, don’t you?”

He blinked. “That depends on the person,” he said slowly.

“Our Cluster, then,” Clint said. “You care about them, right?” Bucky nodded. “What about your friends outside the Cluster?”

The way he said it, so carefully, with concern put into each word, had Bucky tensing automatically. “I care.”

“So… Where are they?”

He clenched his jaw. “Safe.”

“In Russia?”

“Never.”

“Never what?” Clint echoed. “Never safe?”

“Never anywhere near goddamned Russia,” Bucky spat.

“Why not?”

“Why do you think?”

“Do they know you’re here?”

“That’s irrelevant.”

“Don’t they know you’re in danger?”

“What is it to you?” Bucky snapped. “I’m keeping them safe – I’m keeping us safe – and that’s all that matters.”

Clint stared at him, and shook his head gently. “No, Bucky,” he murmured. “That’s not all that matters.”

“Isn’t it?”

Shifting on the sofa to face him, Clint took Bucky’s drink out of his hands, placing it out of the way before turning back. “I talked with Thor,” he began, and Bucky stared hard at the trees, tried to focus on the birds singing somewhere in the background. “I think we worked out what Kamala meant when she said you seemed lost.”

“I’m not lost, and why are you talking about me with other –”

“Can I finish?” he asked in a reasonable tone, so Bucky clamped his jaw shut. “Thor said he’d noticed it, too. Said you weren’t as sociable as the others, that you’d talk, but not for long, and it seemed to him like you were… distant.”

Bucky laughed. “Distant? Is this what you do in your spare time, Clint? Sit on your own in forests and psychoanalyse other people?”

“You’re alone.” His eyes were on Bucky’s face, sincere and insightful, and it made Bucky squirm. “You’re so concerned with keeping people safe that you think that means keeping them away from you, don’t you?” He reached out then, resting his hand in the crook of Bucky’s elbow (and like every time they’d touched, accidentally, briefly, with no more meaning than a friendly nudge or clap on the back, it was overwhelming). “And now that you’re part of a group you don’t need to push away – that you can’t push away – you don’t know what to do with yourself.”

He swallowed. “Stop it.”

“That’s why we’re here, Bucky.” Clint seemed closer than before, and Natasha’s room smaller. “To be there for each other when no-one else can. You’re not endangering us – you’re empowering us.”

Bucky turned his head then, to argue that he was the last person who should be ‘empowering’ anyone, but the thought was derailed by the realisation that Clint was, in fact, much closer than he’d thought. There was maybe a few inches between them, a space barely big enough for a bird to fly through, and the instant Bucky’s defences faltered Clint’s words found their way in and quickly took root. And suddenly, in that dingy living room, with the warmth of a forest surrounding him and Clint so close, Bucky felt more alone than he’d ever allowed himself to feel since leaving Steve, Peggy, Sam and Sharon behind all those years ago. He didn’t doubt Clint could see it – hell, Clint’s eyes didn’t miss a damn thing, but Bucky had done all he could to avoid them. Now, though? They were the brightest light in his life.

Maybe they moved together, maybe they hardly had to move at all – either way, Bucky found himself in a kiss unlike any other. He shifted where he sat, hands going for Clint’s body automatically. There was a hand cupping his jaw, another on his chest, and when he was pushed gently backwards he didn’t hesitate, easing back onto the grass as he made himself comfortable on the couch, Clint a near-mirror image above him. Still they kissed, just lips and a hint of tongue but he was breathless with it, the sensations doubled in his head. In the forest he flipped them over, pinning Clint underneath him and immediately resuming the kiss, while on the sofa in Russia Clint’s hands snaked underneath his shirts, running over his muscles with a warm touch. In return, Bucky pressed them both together in the grass, gasping lightly when Clint pushed his shirts up and the sunlight fell across his back. He could feel it back in Russia – sunlight that didn’t exist on skin that wasn’t exposed, hands smoothing over his front the way they did behind him, lips making their way down his jaw as they were pressed to his abdomen…

It was almost too much. A small part of his mind was afraid of what would happen if he didn’t stay focused, if he lost the ability to discern between which feelings were coming from where, but then Clint was kissing him again, settling himself on top of Bucky like he belonged there, and that was enough to wipe out the last ounce of focus. He was mouthing at Clint’s chest at the same time that he was slipping his hands under the waistband of his jeans, moving on top of him as Clint began pressing him into the cushions. The more their lips and hands roamed, the more insistently they moved with one another, the less it seemed to matter who was doing what and where, and when they finally reached their climax, Bucky felt as though he was experiencing it twice (perhaps even three or four times) at once. Clint was everywhere, the sofa felt like the floor of the forest, and sunlight warmed every part of him; and even as their high began to subside, he couldn’t tell the ceiling from the canopy of illuminated leaves. Somehow, in both worlds, Clint was lying on top of him, breathing heavily into his left ear, fitting against Bucky so well it was hard to know if they’d ever changed positions. Catching his own breath, Bucky didn’t care.

“You don’t have to be alone,” Clint breathed into his ear. Eyes closed, Bucky wondered if he could start to believe that.

Months later, lying on the bottom of a boat, the sun and seven other faces gazing down at him, the drugs blurring their features (and Pierce, somewhere in the back of his mind, roaring his fury), Clint told him the same thing again, and Bucky chose to trust that he was right.

**Author's Note:**

> ... Ta-daah! Now go watch _Sense8_ again ^_^
> 
> If anyone's interested, here's the Cluster and their respective countries:
> 
> Bucky Barnes, America/Russia; Natasha Romanov, Russia; Clint Barton, America; Jessica Drew, Austria; T'Challa, Wakanda; Cindy Moon, South Korea; Kamala Khan, Pakistan; Thor Odinson, Norway.
> 
> This is, like, the second sex scene I've ever written... Pretty fun, ngl! (So much more to play with than regular sex scenes.)


End file.
